


Domestic Dalek

by TheStrangeSeaWolf



Series: Quarantine Fluff [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adoption, Doctor/Dalek Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Episode AU: s08e02 Into the Dalek, Escape, Even a Dalek needs someone who cares for it, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Good Dalek, Household Helper, Humor, Imprisonment, Police
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22015708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStrangeSeaWolf/pseuds/TheStrangeSeaWolf
Summary: The Doctor decides to give Rusty a new home and teach him to be a household helper because he thinks Clara could use one. She is not as impressed as he hoped.
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor & Clara Oswin Oswald, Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Series: Quarantine Fluff [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672567
Comments: 71
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Or: The adopted Dalek AU that no one wanted. Ex...cept me. Don't shout at me or I'll call Rusty for help.

„Oh no, you haven’t!“

Clara stared in shock and disbelief at the Dalek that hovered through the kitchen of her flat. Just minutes before she had come home from Coal Hill and, seeing a Dalek in her flat, jumped behind her sofa.

“Of course, I have! I had to,” the Doctor leaned leisurely at her kitchen counter, “Rusty had nowhere to go to and in a way, he is the only one of his species, a good Dalek.”

Clara sighed.

“I know I said I wished you would warm up a little and become friendlier towards others, but I thought about your friends and friendly species, not your worst enemies.”

The Doctor blinked at her owlishly.

“What did I do wrong this time? You slapped me for not accepting that there could be a good Dalek. And now that I have one and adopted that little fellow, you are cross with me because I did?”

“You _adopted_ it? Is that even possible under the Shadow Proclamation?”

“Ex…ecute the orders of the Doctorrr. The Doctorrr is my commanderrr,” Rusty remarked.

Clara groaned.

“Okay, okay, I get it. I mean; I don’t get it. Usually you are extremely gruff and hurting me and others, but then you adopt a Dalek. But I accept it, okay? I accept it. You do you. But why does… _it_ … have to run around in _my_ kitchen?”

“Ex… cuse me!” Rusty rattled.

“Oh, I try to teach him to be a household helper,” the Doctor grinned broadly.

“A household helper? Do you think I need one?” She scowled at him.

“Oh, honestly, I mean, you do work full time and you go out adventuring with me, so it is logical that you don’t have so much time to keep your flat tidy and clean,” the Doctor stated matter-of-factly.

“Ex…purgate,” Rusty rattled.

The Doctor had exchanged the gun for a robotic hand with which the Dalek now grabbed a wipe and started to clean the kitchen table.

“And how should I explain it to my friends?”

“You have friends?” The Doctor seemed genuinely surprised.

“Of course, I have friends! And, believe it or not, they come to visit me. How do I explain a gigantic peppermill is hovering about that might kill them?”

“Ex…terminate! Exterminate! Exterminate!” Rusty started.

“Shush, Rusty, language! What have I told you about killing people?” The Doctor scolded Rusty.

“Ex…tremely rude. Not do that. Bad Rusty. Ex…hibit good behaviorrrr. Humans arrrrr friends.” The Dalek prompted.

“Now, that’s a good Dalek!” The Doctor complimented him.

“I’m not a good Dalek. You are a good Dalek!” Rusty answered.

The Doctor flinched.

“Okay, I tell you what: Take that scrap heap and get lost, both of you! I don’t need a Dalek household helper and I don’t need a Time Lord who is insulting me constantly.” Clara huffed, her arms crossed.

“Ex…tremely rude,” Rusty remarked as he and the Doctor started towards the TARDIS.

The Doctor shrugged.

“Yes, I know. I don’t understand her, either. I really thought she might like us. But we have to live with that, my tiny, tinny friend. Being the only one of your kind is hard, but we still have us. How about the two of us going to Erkmat 7 to watch the Big Star Wars Revival Marathon?”

“Ex…cellent,” Rusty remarked, “Can I get a lightsaberrr?”

“We’ll see about that. If you behave and don’t try to kill someone, I might get you one.”

“Ex…cited!” Rusty rattled.

“Wait!”

Clara shouted. The Doctor and the Dalek turned around.

“I… I might have overreacted. A bit.”

The Doctor tilted his head and blinked at her. The Dalek waved his sucker confused.

“I didn’t mean to be rude. I appreciate that you take care of Rusty now that he has nowhere to go to. I might really use a little help around the household.”

The Doctor still looked confused.

“So… you mean Rusty can stay? And me, too?”

The Doctor asked.

“Yes, of course you can stay, both of you. And… and I’m sorry.”

“The human ex…cused herself. Excused! Excused!” Rusty vibrated excited, “you said she neverrrr does!”

“Shush, Rusty, don’t ruin it!” The Doctor said quickly. Clara raised an eyebrow.

“He is really good. He did wonders to your clogged toilet with his sucker. And he even baked a cake for you!”

The Doctor hurried to praise his new companion.

“I really hope he washed his sucker before he touched any food,” Clara sighed.

The cooking timer rang.

“Cake ex…pired!” Rusty explained and went to take the cake out of the oven.

“Come on, Clara, time for some tea and cake?” The Doctor tried his best smile.

Clara had to smile at the excitement and the hope in his eyes.

“Okay. But I’ll take a coffee.”

“Ex…presso?” Rusty asked.

“You can do different sorts of coffee? Welcome to my household, Rusty!”

She smiled and shook the robot hand of the Dalek.

The Doctor grinned satisfied and reached for the cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could really use a household helper. I wouldn't mind it being a Dalek.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good Dalek that gets his emotions back, the Doctor, a six-pack of ginger beer and french nougat. What can possibly go wrong?

The Doctor inspected Clara’s fridge. It was disappointingly empty, only a head of cauliflower, a milk carton that was already half empty and a six-pack with ginger beer. He drank the milk with one sip, put the empty carton back in the fridge, took a bottle of ginger beer and closed the door. High time Rusty learned how to do the groceries or they would all starve to death.

He rummaged through the kitchen cupboards until he found a little neatly wrapped package. Ah, French nougat. The perfect snack to eat while improving Rusty. He took the package and went to the living room where Rusty cleaned the sofa with a brush.

“Ex…purgate.” The Dalek explained when he approached.

“That’s a good Dalek, Rusty. Now we will make you even better!”

He smiled as he opened the package with nougat and munched the first piece. Then he took a large sip of ginger beer and made some adjustments with the screwdriver to Rusty’s cortex inside the “head”.

“Sooo, my tiny, tinny friend, you should have all your emotions back now. How do you feel?”

“Ex…cellent!” Rusty replied.

“Fine! Excellent!”

The Doctor felt excellent, too. Even a little light-headed, to be honest. He took another piece of nougat. A good Dalek. That was good! That was excellent. He emptied the bottle of ginger beer and considered taking another.

“Doctorrrr… We ex…ecute a cake!”

“A cake?” The Doctor asked surprised.

“Ex…actly! The otherrr Doctorrr will be ex…cited!”

“The other Doctor?”

“Clarrrrra! Will be ex…hausted, will not ex…pect and be ex…cited!”

Now the Doctor really needed another bottle of ginger beer. It seemed now that Rusty was good _and_ got all his emotions back he developed a sense of compassion and thankfulness. He even had the will to do something nice for Clara.

That was ridiculous. It would spoil Clara for sure.

Okay, if the Dalek did something nice for Clara, he should make sure that he got the bigger part in it.

He munched two pieces of nougat and went to the kitchen. He took another bottle of ginger beer.

“Must prrrreheat the oven!”

Rusty exclaimed and set the oven to 180 °C / 350 °F. The Doctor gave the oven a scrutinizing stare and, when Rusty turned his eyestalk towards the kitchen cabinet, turned it up to 275 °C / 525 °F. The higher the temperature, the faster the cake would be ready, he reasoned.

The Dalek took out a bowl, weighed some flour and added sugar.

The Doctor was sure it was not enough sugar. With pudding brain recipes, it was never enough sugar. When Rusty turned his back, he added the same amount Rusty had already added.

Rusty opened the fridge and grabbed the milk carton.

“No milk,” he remarked.

“No problem, we can substitute it with ginger beer, I’m sure!”

Rusty took a bottle and added some to the dough. The Doctor had already finished his second bottle and took the opened one from Rusty.

Rusty hovered to the fridge and shook his eyestalk confused.

“No eggs… Eggs terminate! Eggs terminate! Eggs terminate!” He shouted angrily.

“Shhhh… don’t worry, my tiny, tinny friend! Calm down, calm down, we will find a solution…”

The Doctor hushed him, giggling. An angry good Dalek baking a cake was sure a hilarious sight.

“Here, take some honey,” he suggested.

The Dalek waved his sucker, obviously thinking.

“Hon..ney,” he snarled, “ex…creta?”

“No, no, it’s not. Well, technically honeydew honey is excreta from lice, but we won’t tell Clara that, right?”

“Rrrrright!”

Rusty rattled and tried to add the honey with a spoon, leaving a sticky mess on the kitchen counter and the floor.

The Dalek took a dough hook and started to stir the ingredients. Half of the ingredients spilled on the counter.

“Xerrrrric!” Rusty vibrated.

“Xeric?” The Doctor asked and it took him a while to understand what the Dalek meant. Why was he thinking so slow? Was there something wrong with his vision and his thinking?

“Ah, too dry, we do not have enough liquid to make a good dough. Just add some ginger beer, Rusty!”

He handed Rusty his bottle who realized that it was already empty.

“Ex…hausted,” he remarked and waved the bottle at the Doctor.

Was he only imagining it or did the Dalek sound reproachful? He went to the fridge, opened another bottle of ginger beer and handed it to Rusty. The Dalek added the beer to the dough and kept the bottle, turning his sucker menacingly at the Doctor.

“No more beerrrr for the Doctorr, the Doctorrr gets drrrrunken. Must prrrotect the commanderrr!” Rusty rattled.

What did he mean? He wasn’t drunken. Okay, he felt a bit light-headed but he sure wasn’t drunk.

“I’m not drrrunken!” He scowled at the Dalek. Then he giggled.

“You arrrrrr,” the Dalek replied, and added: “Harrr. Harrr.”

The Doctor had to laugh so hard at that that he had to grab the kitchen counter to stay steady. So, this was the sound of a… giggling?... laughing?... Dalek.

Rusty put the dough in the cake tin and put it in the oven.

“Ex…purgate,” he rattled, hovering to the sink for a cloth.

The Doctor wondered if the Dalek had really developed a sense of humor now that he had fixed him. He was dying to find out.

“Tidying up is boring, Clara will not be home for a while. We can do it later. Let’s watch some TV.”

“Ex…cellent,” Rusty hovered towards the living room. The Doctor took the open beer bottle Rusty had put beside the sink and emptied it with one sip. Then he took a new one from the fridge, let himself slump on the sofa and switched on the comedy channel.

Ah, old Mr. Bean episodes, excellent to test Rusty’s humor banks in the cortex.

Apparently Rusty had developed a sense of humor that was very similar to the Doctor’s. In no time they were both giggling and laughing at Mr. Bean painting his house and dancing. Afterwards they watched a compilation of the best pranks from “Just for Laughs”.

With time the Doctor could make out the difference in Rusty giggling and laughing. Giggling went “Harrr,” while outright laughing went “Harrr. Harrr.”

He decided he wouldn't let the poor last bottle of ginger beer sit alone in the fridge and got up. He stumbled as he went for the kitchen. Maybe the floor was malfunctioning. He would mention it to Clara and perhaps try to fix it later.

There was a weird smell in this flat, anyway. And his vision became blurry. Or was it… Oh, some alien race had attacked the cake and obviously hit it severely. There was thick smoke coming from the oven.

He opened the oven door, started coughing and had to use his respiratory bypass. Suddenly all went white around him.

“Ex…tinguish! Extinguish! Extinguish!” Rusty shouted happily as he emptied Clara’s powder extinguisher into the oven, leaving collateral damage on the Doctor and the rest of the kitchen.

The Doctor wiped the powder from his eyes and looked around. It looked pretty, as if it had snowed on everything, including that funny little fellow beside him who now looked like a Snowdalek. He started singing:

“Rusty, the snowman, was a jolly, happy Dalek…”

“Harrr.” Rusty giggled and started to hum along.

“What the heck???” A female voice behind them shouted. Apparently, Clara was back from Coal Hill.

“Clara! I fixed Rusty!” The Doctor exclaimed and pulled her into a bear hug, sharing his excitement and a considerable amount of extinguishing powder with her.

“Uhm, Doctor, would you please let go before you have squashed me completely? Thank you very much!”

“I thought you liked hugs?” He said and let go, blinking at her.

“Yeah, well, yes, no, I mean…,” she stuttered and looked around her kitchen. She took a deep breath.

“Okay, Doctor, I try to remain calm. What happened here?"

“Oh, I fixed Rusty. He now has all his emotions back and, lo and behold, he even has a sense of humor!”

“And his sense of humor is emptying a fire extinguisher in my kitchen?”

“Extinguish! Extinguish! Extinguish!” Rusty exclaimed.

“Oi, shut up, scrap heap!” Clara shouted at him. The Dalek turned his eyestalk to the ground and looked like a scolded tin dog.

“No, no, no, no, no,” the Doctor explained. “He also has a sense of compassion and affection, so he decided to bake a cake for you. I helped. Isn’t it great?”

Clara still didn’t look happy. She pinched her eyes.

“Okay, so this happens when Laurel and Hardy of Gallifrey and Skaro bake a cake. I get it,” she sighed, “and what’s that?” She pointed to the battery of empty ginger beer bottles near the sink.

“We need to go shopping with Rusty. I think you ran out of ginger beer and snacks and a few other things. We might starve pretty quick,” he said gravely.

Clara groaned.

“Don’t you remember that you get drunk from ginger beer? Do I really have to remind you of that night on New Caledonia 2?”

Blurry images about a pub quiz, can-can in a kilt and a brawl tried to emerge from his brain. He willed them back. He wasn’t drunk. At least not as drunk as back then.

“I can ex…plain! The Doctorrrr is drrrrunken! Trrried to terrrminate him. Exterminate! Exterminate!” Rusty vibrated.

“You! Shut up, fetch a vacuum cleaner and clean this mess,” Clara commanded. “And you!” She pointed towards the Doctor. “Clean yourself and then we have a word in the living room!”

He hung his head and stumbled towards his TARDIS, leaving white footprints on the carpet. He had some difficulties to get rid of the powder and into new clothes, but when he looked into the mirror, he gave himself an encouraging thumbs up. He was the man who stopped the monsters and the man who fixed a Dalek. This was still a wonderful evening. He just needed to explain it to Clara more clearly.

When he stepped out of the TARDIS, Rusty had already cleaned a lot of the mess. He was a really good household Dalek. Unfortunately, Clara still didn’t seem happy. Her eyebrows did that thing that told him she was cross with him.

“Okay, listen here, Doctor! I said you both can stay, but you have to make sure that THIS,” and she pointed to the kitchen, “doesn’t happen again! Is that clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am! Azbantium clear!” He nodded. He saw that there was still some nougat left in the package and handed it to Clara. “Here, take one, they are good!”

He hadn’t expected her next reaction. Her eyes literally inflated with anger. He feared they would fall out of her head.

“Oh no, you didn’t! Tell me you didn’t…”

She snatched the package from his hands.

“I have brought them back from my trip to Paris as a gift for grandma’s birthday!”

She took a few steps forward, he stumbled backwards to avoid getting slapped and fell against Rusty.

“Doctorrrr, I think she will exterminate us! Exterminate! Exterminate!” Rusty shouted.

“Oh, I pretty well may!” Clara exclaimed. “Out, both of you or I hit you,” and she pointed towards the Doctor, “so hard you will regenerate and throw you,” and she pointed towards Rusty, “to the scrap collection!”

The Doctor and Rusty looked at one another and started towards the door. The Doctor leaned slightly on the Dalek for support, because the floor was still malfunctioning.

“Ex…tremely rude,” Rusty remarked.

“Some people are never happy, and that’s always sad, my tiny, tinny friend,” the Doctor shrugged as they stumbled out of the door and into the corridor together.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special treat today: [InsideTheTardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsideTheTardis/pseuds/InsideTheTardis) felt inspired to do an artwork for it.

The Doctor and the Dalek stumbled through the corridor. Well, Rusty hovered and the Doctor, still intoxicated with ginger beer and nougat, stumbled beside him, trying to walk a straight line. Suddenly, the Doctor stood still and grinned all over his face.

“Hey Rusty, you did like those pranks we watched, right?”

“Ex…cellent! Ha.” Rusty replied.

“Shall I show you another prank? I learned it from Courtney Woods.”

The Doctor rang the next doorbell, started running, rang the next and the next and then ran downstairs. Rusty stood there, confused.

A bald man opened the door and stared at Rusty.

“What is it? Oh no, are you one of those new parcel delivery robots? Okay, where’s the parcel? And no, I’m not accepting one for the neighbors!”

“Parrrrcel? Ex…plain! Explain! Explain!” Rusty vibrated.

In the meantime, the other neighbors were at their doors, all staring at him.

“I think that’s the household robot of Miss Oswald. Perhaps it has a malfunction. I’ll tell her,” a young woman with curly hair said and rang Clara’s doorbell.

Clara opened the door, saw Rusty and yelled:

“Didn’t I tell you to get lost? Don’t come crawling back, I don’t want to see you ever again. And if you see Doctor Idiot you can tell him this applies for him as well!”

She slammed the door, leaving a confused Rusty and three equally confused neighbors standing in the corridor.

“Ex…tremely rrrude!” Rusty rattled.

“Sometimes I wonder if Miss Oswald is losing it,” the young woman remarked.

“I think she really should stop dating that old man. He’s not good for her. She is acting weird since he is around,” an elderly woman said.

“She was always a weirdo, no change whatsoever,” the bald man said, shrugged and went back to his flat. The others did the same, leaving Rusty standing alone in the corridor.

“Shhh, Rusty, over here!” The Doctor whispered from his hiding place at the stairs.

Rusty moved towards him.

“Ex…tremely perrrplexed!” He said.

“Oh, the whole point of this prank is to run away after you rang the bell, so there is nobody out there when they come looking!” The Doctor giggled.

“Ex…plain?”

“Ah, come follow me, I will ex…emplify!” The Doctor imitated Rusty’s voice and giggled. “But not in this house, I don’t want Clara to get into trouble with her neighborhood. Well, not more than she already is.”

“Ex…cellent!”

They went outside and the cold air hit the Doctor. He leaned against the wall, took a few deep breaths and shook his head. Great, the floor had stopped malfunctioning.

They walked down the street together. The Doctor signed Rusty to hide behind a car, went to the next house, rang the doorbell and sprinted behind the car as well. They saw a man coming out, looking around confused, then slamming the door shut.

“Ha. Ha,” laughed Rusty along with the Doctor.

“Ex…periment!” Rusty rattled, went to the next door and rang all the bells with his sucker. Then he hovered behind the next car. It was an apartment house like the one Clara lived in so now there were multiple lights turned on, voices crackling in the door speaker and people looking out of the window.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.” Rusty laughed and the Doctor noted that they really shared the same sense of humor. They took turns annoying people until they were at the end of the street.

“What are we going to do now?” The Doctor asked Rusty.

The Dalek shook his head confused. He was a Dalek, he was used to obeying orders, not deciding what to do.

“Ex…plain?” He asked.

“Well, the night is still young and here we are, the two of us. Handsome geniuses from out of space. Well, that’s me being the handsome genius and you the one from out of space,” he giggled. “How about the two of us look for some nice place to hang out.”

“Ex…plore!” Rusty sounded excited.

They walked the street and passed a pub. “Pub Quiz: Doctor Who 20-22 h” was written with white chalk on a black sign.

“Ex…plore?” Rusty asked.

“Nah, never liked the show. Well, not since they replaced Matt Smith with that grouchy old Scotsman.”

They wandered on until they heard loud music from a club.

“Do you dance, Rusty?” The Doctor asked.

“Ex…emplify?” Rusty vibrated.

“Okay, we just pop in and have a look around.”

They went for the entrance, but a doorman blocked it.

“I think you two are wrong here. Looks like you are up for the cosplay event next door,” and he pointed with his thumb farther down the street.

“Shall we… exterminate him? Exterminate! Exterminate! Exterminate!”

The Doctor measured the doorman and his two colleagues behind him and decided that it was an easy fight, but it was probably not worth the effort. He always liked to watch good costumes and get inspirations for future regenerations, so going to that cosplay event sounded like the better idea, anyway.

“Naaa, come on, Rusty, we leave those kids playing ‘Men in Black’ alone.”

“Kids in Black. Ha. Ha.” Laughed Rusty and a few teenagers behind them also started to laugh at the doormen. They continued their way down the street, leaving a few embarrassed doormen behind.

A few blocks away they saw people in strange costumes entering a club. “Free entry for cosplayers + 1 free drink.” a sign read. This time it was no problem to pass the doorman.

“Ha, Dracula and R2-D2, you guys are dressed up perfectly!” The doorman remarked.

Inside it was damp and loud. All kinds of fandoms were present, but the Doctor was not sure he recognized them all. At the bar, Spiderman served the drinks.

“What’ll be, Doctor?”

The Doctor eyed Spiderman closely. Did he know him?

“A ginger beer for me and my friend,” he answered.

“You really did a good job getting that Jon Pertwee look right!” He remarked as he placed two bottles on the counter. “Your Dalek is not half as convincing, though.” He said in a lower voice.

The Doctor didn’t understand what he was referring to but decided he didn’t care. He emptied half of the first bottle with one large gulp.

He watched the dancefloor. Wonder Woman did some weird breakdancing attempts to “Own It” by Stormzy, while Thor and Captain America where dancing a slow waltz to it, totally ignoring the beats. Perfect. He finished his ginger beer.

“Fancy a dance?” He asked Rusty.

Rusty turned his eyestalk questioningly at the Doctor.

“Okay, I’ll first order a song you will like.”

He slipped on his sonic sunglasses and changed the song abruptly to the “Excellent Song” from the Mr. Bean channel on YouTube.

“Ex…cellent!” Rusty exclaimed. Thor and Captain America looked confused, while Wonder Woman just paused a moment before they adjusted their movements to the new beat.

The Doctor drank the first half of the second bottle of ginger beer and headed for the dancefloor, Rusty following along.

The Doctor started dancing and Rusty hovered around him, shouting “Excellent! Excellent! Excellent!” all the time – always a bit out of tune with the word in the song. The whole club had gathered around the dancefloor now to watch this performance agape. Darth Vader even had to put off his helmet because he didn’t believe his eyes.

When the song was finished, they headed back to the bar, totally ignoring all the people staring at them. The Doctor finished the second ginger beer when two men approached him. They were apparently drunk and looked strange. One wore a multicolored, multipattern coat and the other a ridiculously long scarf and a wig with brown curly hair.

“Xssssuses, dear Sir,” the first one slurred. “’M havin’ ‘n argument with my frien’ ‘ere,” he pointed to the curly head. “I say you are the Third, he says you are the Twelfth!”

The Doctor was staring at them confused.

“What?”

“Are you Pertwee or Capaldi?” The other one said, clarifying.

“I am the Doctor!” He answered.

Both men rolled their eyes annoyed.

“Funny one, yeah?” The multicolored coat grumbled. “Tell you what, then: Your Dalek is ridiculous. Look at that eyestalk, it’s the wrong length! That’s merely 17,5 inches and it should be 18! And anyway, that new ones look like window dressings. The only real Daleks are the one of the classic era!”

“Ex…cuse me?” Rusty rattled.

“Yeah, an’ look, not even a gun, ‘sis a robot hand? ‘r you a fucking pacifist?” The one with the scarf agreed, grabbing Rusty’s hand. Rusty closed his hand and send the drunk man flying across the bar.

“Exterminate! Exterminate! Exterminate!” Rusty exclaimed angrily.

“Aye… what do you think you are doing?” The one with the multicolored coat emptied his pint over Rusty and tried to rip his eyestalk, but the Doctor was quicker and sent the man to the floor with a shoulder throw.

“Rusty! Manners!” The Doctor exclaimed.

“But they arrrrr ex…ecrable!” Rusty snarled back.

But it was too late, anyway. Somehow this short brawl had been enough of an invitation for all the guests to start battling over their favorite fandom pet peeves. Marvel against DC, Wonder Woman stans against haters, Classic Star Wars against Modern Era, Classic Era Whovians against NuWho… Soon the whole club was one gigantic pit of shouting and fighting people.

The last thing the Doctor heard before a collector’s edition of Batman comics struck him unconscious was the sound of approaching police sirens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song the Doctor puts in the jukebox to dance to can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OS401C4ign0). In his defense: Remember he’s severely intoxicated by ginger beer and French nougat.
> 
> The discussion of the right length of a Dalek eyestalk was inspired by [this interview](https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/music/features/doctor-whos-peter-capaldi-wont-be-hanging-up-his-coat-anytime-soon-a6723651.html) with Peter Capaldi.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special treat today: [InsideTheTardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsideTheTardis/pseuds/InsideTheTardis) drew our poor, beaten up Time Lord being guided home.

A glance at the clock told Clara it was half past midnight. Who the heck was calling her in the middle of the night? She groaned and picked up the phone. Could only be the Doctor. Time Lords were extremely untalented in learning about human rest cycles, the concept of sleep in general and the meaning of “good night rest” in particular. Her phone didn’t recognize the number, though.

“Hello?”

“Miss Clara Oswald?”

“Who’s speaking?”

“Bethnal Green police station, Sergeant Harper speaking. Miss, I think we have a friend of you here. He’s…”

In the background she heard someone shouting:

“I want Clara Oswald. Unharmed! Unhurt! Alive!”

Clara cringed.

“Uhm… you might hear it in the background, Ma’am. There was a bit of a brawl during some cosplay event in a club and we have arrested a few culprits and among those is this Scottish, uhm, man, who is very drunk and not exactly willing to cooperate. He refuses medical treatment and giving us his full name. He only calls himself “the Doctor”. And he…”

“If you don’t immediately release Clara Oswald, I will rain hell on all of you!”

It was definitely the Doctor and apparently, now he had found something to bang on the bars with.

“Well, he keeps mentioning Clara Oswald, so I looked up people with this name in London and started calling them. So, if you happen to know a perhaps 60-year-old from Scotland, male, about 6 feet, slim, grey hair, we would be very grateful if we could release him into your custody.”

Clara’s first impulse was to deny she knew him. No matter what mess he had gotten himself into, she was mad at him. She was still mad at him for destroying her kitchen and she was mad once again because he got into a fight and managed to get himself arrested by the police.

Then she recalled the policeman mentioned he refused medical treatment, so he was probably hurt. Her concern for her friend finally outweighed her anger and she agreed to stop by to have a look if she knew the man.

She dressed quickly and walked to the police station which was only a few blocks away. When she reached it, she found it rather crowded. Policemen were taking evidences, relatives where coming to fetch their arrested family members, a doctor was bandaging a man with a multicolored coat who was handcuffed to a chair.

Clara went to the reception desk and waited for her turn.

“You pudding brains! Where is Clara Oswald? I want Clara Oswald. Here. Immediately. Unhurt. Unharmed. Now!”

She heard the Doctor shout from a separate room. There were several people queuing before her, but she could tell that the raging Doctor was annoying everybody, so she decided to shout in her trained teacher voice:

“Oi, shut up, Doctor, I’m here! Stop driving everyone in this shack crazy, for god’s sake!”

Suddenly, there was silence in the whole police station, and everybody was staring at her. From the room next door, a hoarse, Scottish voice asked:

“Clara?”

“Yes, I’m here, now shush!”

“Clara!”

It sounded relived.

“You are Miss Clara Oswald?”

The policemen at the reception desk sounded also relived. She nodded. The policemen apologized to the people in the queue, took his keys and signed Clara to follow him to the next room.

Behind bars were several prisoners, but right in front stood the Doctor, hands on the bars, staring glassy eyed to the door. He was a miserable sight to see. One eye was half-closed and red and there was encrusted blood under his nose. Both body parts seemed to have had an encounter with a fist. His black coat was torn and there were blood stains on his white shirt.

“Do you recognize this man?” The policeman asked.

“Barely,” Clara answered truthfully, but both Doctor and police officer stared at her with surprise and horror.

“Clara!” The Doctor mumbled shocked.

“Yes, I know this man,” she corrected herself quickly and both men exhaled with relief.

The policeman signed her to take a few steps to the side.

“Has he acted violently or abusive towards you in the past?”

She glanced at the policeman for a moment before she let out a burst of laughter.

“Believe me, he wouldn’t risk that.”

“Okay. We would like to release him into your custody. As you see, our prison cells are rather crowded and it’s a busy night, so we release everybody who has no major charges filed against them and who has somebody who agrees to take the responsibility for them.”

Clara thought that taking the responsibility for the Doctor was something nobody in their right mind would ever do, but when she looked over to the wrecked Time Lord, she decided she would do it anyway.

“I will,” she agreed with a sigh.

“Alright then. You should convince him to go to hospital. He was knocked unconscious and has a nasty bump on the back of his head so he might have a concussion. But he refused to let a doctor near him, stating that he is a doctor himself. Maybe he’s a little…” and the policeman made a gesture indicating that the Doctor wasn’t in his right mind.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Clara said, perhaps a little more forcefully than she had intended because the policeman gave her an odd side glance when he opened the door and let the Doctor out.

The Doctor pulled Clara into a bear hug immediately, nearly resting his whole weight on her, which made her stumble slightly backwards.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

Clara wondered if it was just the ginger beer or if the policeman was perhaps right with his assumptions. Usually, the Doctor abhorred hugs and this was the second one within 24 hours. Not to mention he just _thanked_ her.

In any case, she had to bring this mess of a Time Lord back to her flat to tend to his wounds. Maybe to the TARDIS medbay to make sure his head was alright, at least alright for his standards. And make sure he had a shower, she added in her mind, because he smelled like an Irish Pub after St. Patrick’s Day. She broke the hug.

“Come on, then,” she said and grabbed his hand.

At first, he shuffled along, but then stood still.

“Rusty! We need to find Rusty! Where’s Rusty?” His eyes were wide with shock.

Clara sighed. He was right. It might not be advisable to have a Dalek running around unsupervised in London.

“Say, Mister…” she squinted to read the name tag “Harper. You don’t have, by any chance, also arrested some… well, robot?”

“That miserable attempt to cobble together a Dalek?” The policeman asked.

Clara nodded, while the Doctor scowled.

“At first, we thought it was a child in disguise and this would have been a serious issue because he would have brought an underaged person into the club. But then we discovered it was just a toy. It’s in the evidence room and we will keep it in case someone files charges against him.”

He nodded towards the Doctor.

“He and his toy robot have caused quite a chaos in the club so he may very well be brought to trial. So, would you please sign this form that you take full responsibility for him and confirm he doesn’t leave London in the next few days?”

The policeman put a form on the reception desk and pointed to a pen. Clara thought that this was probably the dumbest thing she would ever do but filled in and signed the form anyway.

“You really should keep an eye on your father. He seems to be overdoing that fandom thing and he’s a bit old to get himself involved in pub fights.”

Clara gave the policeman a cold stare.

“First: He’s not my father. And second: what you said is simply ageist. You are never too old to be a fan and you are never too old to start a pub fight.”

Clara and the policeman stared at each other for a moment, before she cringed.

“You are aware that this is probably not the smartest thing to say in police station when you have just signed that you are a law-abiding citizen, right?”

She nodded.

“Look, Ma’am, we are honestly glad you take him with you. All I wanted to say was that you really should have a closer eye on your… boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boy… oh, just forget it! Good night!”

She said, grabbed the Doctor by the arm and pulled the reluctant Time Lord out of the police station, trying to ignore the giggling of the policemen and other people behind her.

They started towards Clara’s home. The Doctor’s steps were unsteady. Clara decided to reach around his waist so he could lean on her for support. Suddenly the Doctor stopped.

“What if the policeman is right?”

She looked up to him confused.

“What if Rusty is underaged? Clara, we don’t know how old he is. We don’t have any idea about the life cycle of a Dalek. He could be really, really, young. A kid Dalek. And he’s imprisoned and alone. Clara, we have to save him.”

For the first time since he regenerated, she saw something in the Doctor’s eyes she had missed: concern. This harsh, ignorant and sarcastic incarnation was really concerned about the little scrap heap. She wondered if the intoxication with ginger beer and nougat changed his personality or if it just revealed what was hidden inside.

“You really care for Rusty, right?”

He nodded.

“Rusty is my friend.”

He said and looked at her with an expression that was so pure, affectionate and worried that it warmed her heart. No, she decided, his personality hadn’t changed, his caring side was just hidden when he was sober, for whatever reason.

She reached up to his beaten face. He flinched at first but then held still. She let her hand rest on his cheek.

“I tell you what, Doctor. You are not in the condition for breaking in a jail and freeing a prisoner. And it doesn’t help Rusty in any way if we are arrested in a chaotic attempt. How about that: We go home, I patch you up a little, you can change your clothes and then we think about a plan to free Rusty. Okay?”

He nodded hesitantly. She smiled at him and wrapped her arm around his waist again. He put his arm around her shoulders and leaned on her. Together they continued their way to Clara’s flat, ignoring the amused and critical stares of the few night owls they met along their way.


	5. Chapter 5

Clara woke up to a snoring Time Lord beside her. She had treated his injuries and told him to sleep off his intoxication. Of course, he had insisted that he wasn’t drunk at all and he didn’t need to sleep because he was a Time Lord. After much discussion she had finally got him to lie in her bed, because she feared he would fall off the sofa in his drunken state. He had coiled up into a ball and fell asleep almost immediately. So much for Time Lords not needing any sleep.

Now, about 4 hours later, the Time Lord lay straight and relaxed on his back, still tight asleep, snoring, looking a bit younger and incredibly peaceful. She smiled at the sight and resisted the urge to stroke his hair or ruffle his eyebrows. She didn’t want to wake him.

She got up, dressed and started to prepare some breakfast. She heard footsteps behind her. When she turned around, she had to suppress a laugh. The Doctor’s hair was standing in all possible angles and he was staring at her, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He looked like a six feet tall baby owl, fallen from the nest.

“Up already?”

“Ah, I don’t need sleep, I just catnapped for some minutes.”

“Four hours are how many minutes?”

“240 in Earth minutes, why do you ask?”

“Because you catnapped,” she checked the clock above the oven, suppressing a giggle, “258 Earth minutes, oh superior I-don’t-need-sleep Time Lord.”

He blinked at her surprised, which made him look even more like a startled owl.

“I think you haven’t counted right,” he declared, sounding not too convinced.

“How’s the head? You were quite pissed yesterday.”

The Time Lord straightened his back and tried to look as dignified as it was possible for someone who was standing barefooted in a washed-out T-Shirt and question mark boxers in the kitchen of a friend who had to free that someone out of prison after a pub fight.

“I was not pissed, Clara. I was maybe a bit tipsy after a ginger beer or two. But I was nowhere near drunk.”

Clara snorted and arched an eyebrow, pointing to six empty bottles on the kitchen counter. The Doctor seemed suddenly extremely interested in the kitchen floor.

“I suspect your floor has a serious malfunction, but this morning it seems to behave quite well,” he changed topic, tapping with one toe on a tile. “Anyway, I’m hungry.”

“Why doesn’t this surprise me at all?” Clara giggled and opened the fridge to take out some eggs.

“Wow, how did that happen? It was next to empty yesterday evening!”

The Doctor exclaimed at the sight of all the things he saw in the fridge.

“Believe it or not, I did the groceries on my way back home yesterday, before I interrupted the ‘Great Armageddon Bake Off’ featuring Rusty and the Doctor. I do make sure that you find enough food in the fridge, even without having a household Dalek, you know?”

“Rusty,” the Doctor mumbled, regret in his voice. “Clara, we have to find him and free him immediately! Get dressed, I warm up the TARDIS!”

The Doctor headed for the door.

“Doctor, you don’t have to warm up a TARDIS. And in case you haven’t realized it: I am the one who is dressed, you are the one who is still in his nightdress or whatever you call the combination of an old John Lennon t-shirt and question mark boxers.”

“It’s not an old John Lennon t-shirt, it’s John Lennon’s old t-shirt.”

“Ah, he’ll miss it, then?”

“Not anymore.”

“I guess so.”

“But Yoko is probably still cross with me…”

“Is this one of those John and Yoko stories I don’t want to hear because it destroys my head canon?”

“Depends. We had this idea, concerning that bed…”

“Stop it, Doctor! I don’t want to hear it!”

“Your loss, it involved tatter tots and turtles.”

“I said stop!”

“Fine,” the Doctor shrugged, “we have no time anyway, we have to save Rusty, first!”

“First, you sit down, and we have breakfast. Rusty is not in immediate danger, we know where he is and he’s probably doing fine at the police station.”

Clara said, shoveling a large amount of scrambled eggs on the Doctor’s plate, a smaller serving on hers.

“No one is doing fine at a police station, Clara. They said they confined him in a vault!”

The Doctor started to wolf down his eggs as if he hadn’t had something to eat for weeks. Thinking about it, he probably didn’t have anything to eat except for that nougat last night and the stars knew when he had a proper dinner, lunch or breakfast before that.

“The evidence vault, Doctor. He’s just in the place where police store the evidence of a crime… as long as that crime is not eating a poor schoolteacher out of house and home.”

The Doctor looked up sheepishly. The plate was empty, and he had already licked it clean.

Clara sighed and brought toast, cheese, ham, strawberry jam and peanut butter, which earned her a broad, happy grin from an apparently still hungry oversized baby owl.

“We need a plan!”

The Doctor explained, applying a generous layer of peanut butter to his toast. He carefully added some ham on which he applied a layer of jam. Then, he topped it with three slices of cheese. He applied some ketchup, pepper and tabasco and completed the sandwich with another toast.

“No pickles?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Clara, that would be disgusting!” The Doctor exclaimed. “Besides, you didn’t dish up pickles.”

Clara contemplated which was stronger: her disgust for the choice of ingredients or her awe for his ability to eat that monstrosity with only a few bites and without making a mess anywhere.

The Doctor inserted two fresh slices of toast in the toaster.

“Let’s say this is the vault.”

The Doctor created a model of a room by using the package with toasts, the toaster, the jam jar and the ham.

“And this,” he placed the pepper pot inside the model vault, “is Rusty.”

He placed the tabasco bottle and the salt cellar in front of the toaster.

“So, this is us. I think we sneak to the vault’s entrance…”

He let the salt cellar and the tabasco bottle ‘walk’ towards the toaster. Clara thought that maybe she should be thankful that usually the Doctor made his plans on the fly while running from aliens.

“And then…” the toast shot from the toaster, “Booom! We blast the door and free Rusty!” He exclaimed and ‘walked’ the little pepper pot out of the ‘prison’, guided by the salt cellar on the left and the tabasco bottle on the right, a happy grin on his face.

Clara was now decidedly glad she didn’t usually witness how the Doctor planned his escapes.

“Or maybe… it’s just a thought, Doctor, but maybe… We just go to the police station and ask what we need to do to get him back? You didn’t hurt someone yesterday, did you?”

“No!” The Doctor stated with confidence. “Just punched a bloke or two. And just those who deserved it and who were mean to Rusty.”

Clara sighed.

“And Rusty? Did he hurt anyone?”

“Well, he screamed ‘exterminate’ once or twice…”

Clara caught her breath.

“But as I have replaced his gun with a robot hand, he couldn’t do much. Maybe threw some people around, but nothing too serious.”

Clara exhaled.

“Well, as they think it’s a robot, they will hold you responsible for it, anyway. Let’s go to the police station,” she sniffled and grimaced, “ _after_ you took a shower, and see what we can do, okay?”

“Okay,” the Doctor said between his teeth, munching another one of the toast-peanut-ham-jam-cheese-sandwiches, “one more of these and I’m good to go. Say, do you happen to have remoulade?”

Clara sighed as she added remoulade and pickles to the ‘evidence vault’ on her table, earning her a broad, happy smile from a perfectly satisfied owl.


	6. Chapter 6

„Please, fill in this form.”

The woman behind the counter in room 345.2 handed the Doctor a form and a pen. The Doctor sniffed the pen and the form before he started filling it in.

“I really think it is important for elderly men to have a hobby,” the woman remarked.

The Doctor was too immersed in the form to even recognize the remark – or if he did, he gave no indication he did so. Clara, however, arched an eyebrow at the woman.

“Why do you think so, Mrs…” she squinted to read the name tag, “Brigham?”

“Oh, you know… I see how it is with my Dad. Only hanging about in the flat all day, complaining about government and the neighborhood declining, watching TV… I think it’s great your Dad has a hobby.” Mrs. Brigham lowered her voice and brought her head a bit nearer, “although I think he shouldn’t cosplay on weekdays in public, it seems a bit… you know… weird.”

Clara shortly considered telling the woman that this wasn’t cosplay, that this was what the Doctor usually wore. But this sounded probably even more weird, so she settled for an unconcerned shrug.

The Doctor, however, looked at the woman, straightened himself, spun around and made a dramatic gesture towards her.

“Every girl is crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man!”

He cited, wiggling his eyebrows at the woman.

Clara cringed. Sometimes she just wished he would act… a little… less like… _him_.

“Doctor…”

“You really shouldn’t support this… level of eccentricity, Ma’am,” Mrs. Brigham remarked, “Calling him Doctor and such. He might become detached from reality. I heard from a man who built a TARDIS in his backyard, cut his hair ultrashort, constantly wears a leather jacket and greets everybody as the Doctor.”

“Fantastic!”

The Doctor exclaimed, giving Mrs. Brigham his brightest, happiest grin and handed her the form.

Mrs. Brigham checked the form and frowned. She took a few steps to the right behind her counter and indicated Clara should join her.

“Ma’am… I think your father has serious issues…” she pointed to the form, “here, he refused to give his name, only inserted ‘the Doctor’ as a title, and he wrote ‘Time Lord’ as occupation.”

Clara looked at the form that also had some Gallifreyan writing as a signature – or had the Doctor become distracted and it was a doodle?

“But you are fine with ‘Gallifrey’ as place of birth?”

The woman shrugged.

“We are still in the European Union. Could be a small town in Ireland or the Lord knows where on the continent. This is just a claim for confiscated property, the nationality doesn’t play a role in that.”

For once, Clara was glad the woman was a bureaucrat.

“Look… how about I fill a new form for…”

Clara considered quickly if she should tell the truth or let the woman confused about their relationship. She decided that probably the truth was too complicated and the woman believing she was the Doctor’s daughter had some advantages.

“…him?”

She ended the sentence, so she wouldn’t get into trouble for claiming a false identity in front of authorities.

“Sure. That might be advisable,” the woman lowered her voice even more before she continued, “you really should get your father to a therapist… or maybe a gerontologist. You know, the earlier a degenerating brain is diagnosed…”

Clara felt anger welling up.

“His brain is alright! He is ‘of sound mind and disposing memory’ if this is the term you lot understand better!”

She snapped at the woman, a bit louder and more aggressive than intended.

Both Mrs. Brigham and the Doctor stared at her.

“Ha! I have heard that! And I will remind you whenever you say I’m crazy!”

The Doctor grinned broadly and happily.

“Shut up! This still doesn’t mean you are normal!”

Clara shot back.

The woman behind the counter looked from one to the other, obviously trying to make her mind up about the situation.

Clara quickly filled in the new form, avoiding any conversation that could probably lead to the officer determining they both weren’t in the mental state to reclaim their property.

She hesitated at ‘items’ and ‘purpose’. She looked what the Doctor had written. ‘Dalek’ and ‘Highly functional weapon of mass destruction that was transformed into a household helper.’ She scratched her head, then wrote ‘toy robot’ and ‘Remote controlled toy for cosplay events, intended to look like a Dalek from the TV series Doctor Who.’

She folded the Doctor’s form and let it disappear in her pocket. Then she handed Mrs. Brigham her form, who checked it and put a stamp on it.

“Very well, this will be 500 £ as deposit.”

“What?”

“Well, there might still be a trial, although so far no one has filed any charges. The colleagues have secured all evidence they need, but you still have to put down an appropriate deposit which will be charged against a potential fine.”

The Doctor started rummaging his pockets and started to pile all sorts of stuff on the counter. His sonic screwdriver, a towel, a parking receipt from New New York, the repair bill from their collision with the Andromeda Ascendant, a package of tentacle crisps from Phark’Ghoram, a cinema ticket from “Frozen 35” (what a waste of time!), a yo-yo, a toy Slitheen,…

The eyes of Mrs. Brigham grew bigger and bigger. Clara, on the other hand, immediately understood what the Doctor tried to tell her.

“Forget it! I won’t pay half of a month’s salary to bail out a Dalek!”

The Doctor blinked at her.

“Is 500 £ so much money or are you underpaid?”

“Both!”

“Then it is true that I couldn’t afford you,” the Doctor remarked, looking saddened to the huge pile of odds and ends on the counter.

“Yeah, I told you, you were my hobby. And if I count the clothes ruined by alien slime and the shoes I have to retire because they are worn out by running from fatal dangers once a week, you are an expensive one! I really don’t know if I can afford you any longer!”

Mrs. Brigham looked from one to the other, obviously trying to figure out what exactly their relationship was and if she should call for reinforcement to arrest two cases of potentially dangerous mentally ill people.

The Doctor, on the other hand, now looked at Clara like a beaten puppy and she saw an expression in his eyes she hadn’t seen in a long while – fear.

“You wouldn’t really…? I… I am sure I can find some money somewhere on some of the banking planets. Or… I could get a job. I’m good at tinkering. Maybe… I can get a job as a caretaker! I’m good at taking care, really! And I think I have a coat for that! I could ask if Coal Hill needs a caretaker…”

“If we don’t need something at Coal Hill it is a caretaker who is a match for Courtney Woods when it comes to being chaotic and a disruptive influence. The kids are crazy enough without a Time Lord caretaker around!”

Clara snorted, but had to smile at the sudden eagerness of the Doctor to avoid being kicked out of her life for financial reasons. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t be mad at him.

“But still, it is too much money, Doctor. If I pay that, there will be no money left for food for the rest of the month.”

The Doctor shuffled his feet.

“I… could cook. And… there are quite a few take-aways in space and some owe me a favor or two.”

Clara turned to the woman behind the counter who now stared at both of them as if they were from out of space or escaped an asylum.

“Say… if we don’t pay the deposit… When will Rusty be released?”

Mrs. Brigham stared at her, blinking. Clara realized her mistake. She cleared her throat.

“Sorry… For how long stay the items in your custody and if there are no charges filed, when can we retrieve out property?”

“Oh, if there is no trial you can reclaim your items after a period of 6 months.”

Clara turned to the Doctor.

“Doctor, how about we leave Rusty here. I mean, it is a nice, dry place, I think he will have a good time.”

“Clara, this is a police building! No one has a good time in a police building, not even the people who work there! And we haven’t seen how they accommodated him. He might be in a freezing cold prison cell. And he is alone and afraid! We can’t leave him here for 6 months. He will be traumatized!”

“Doctor, he’s a Dalek. He doesn’t know what fear is. You can’t traumatize a Dalek!”

“Don’t you understand, Clara? I gave him all his emotions back! He _is_ afraid and lonely because I _made him able_ to feel that way! And he can be traumatized for the same reason! And besides, Rusty is my friend!”

The Doctor was visibly upset, gesticulating widely. Clara sighed.

“Doctor… it’s 500 £!”

“Can you slap a price tag on friendship, Clara Oswald? How can 500 £ be too much to pay for the freedom of a friend? What would be a reasonable price? What would you do if it were me? Would you say: ‘naaa, 500, that’s too expensive… make it 250 or I let that grumpy, stupid, old Time Lord rot in the cage for the next 2,000 years because my comfy flat and my chocolate cookies are more important to me’? Is that what it is, Clara Oswald? Is that your understanding of friendship? Because if I had money, I’d give it all just to free you! And before you ask: I also would give all the chocolate cookies that were ever made and will ever be made in all of time and space just to free you!”

The Doctor now towered over her, fists clenched and an expression in his eyes that was angry, concerned, and affectionate at the same time.

Clara sighed again. She would overdraw her account and it would be quite a stretch until the next pay cheque, but the Doctor had a point. She was still not convinced that Rusty really had such a range of emotions, but it was heartwarming to see how visibly concerned for his wellbeing the Doctor was. It was strangely good to see this caring side of him that had been hidden since his regeneration.

“It’s alright, Doctor, don’t worry. I’ll pay the deposit,” she said, searching for her credit card in her purse.

Mrs. Brigham held the phone in her hands, dialing a number. Clara connected the dots in her brain and reacted quickly. She gesticulated at her, and when she got her attention, she lowered her voice, choosing a conspiratorial tone.

“Mrs. Brigham… some parts of this conversation might have struck you as odd. But… since his wife died… he has found comfort in the world of Doctor Who and developed a special relationship to this robot… and… well, me, his family and his therapist are quite happy about it, because for a while, you know, we feared he would do something to himself. You know, following her… And so… I hope you understand… for him, that robot is like a real person. Please, it is important you play along, okay?”

It was a blatant lie with so many loopholes it was more like a fishing net than a waterproof story, but she just hoped it was heart-wrenching enough.

“Oh.”

Mrs. Brigham’s expression softened as she looked to the Doctor who had started to put his possessions back into his pockets.

“I understand. Poor him.”

Did she imagine it or did the eyes of the officer become wet? Mrs. Brigham definitely had a romantic streak and Clara was glad about it.

After the transaction was done, Mrs. Brigham handed Clara her card back, together with a receipt.

“You take this receipt to room 023.5 in the cellar. You hand it to the clerk and get your toy back,” she said, then turned to the Doctor, smiling a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry, Doctor, your friend is in the best hands there. My colleague is a really nice person.”

The Doctor frowned.

“Most prison guards are nice people. The problem starts when you are not their colleague, but their prisoner.”

Clara took the Doctor by the arm and dragged him out of the office before he could enter into a debate with Mrs. Brigham about prisons, police, rehabilitation and corrupt crime prevention systems. She was rather sure they didn’t share the same views on the subject, and she didn’t want to find out if this building held prison cells for opinionated and inconvenient visitors.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint: it is most fun if you imagine the Doctor _and_ the police officer both played by Peter Capaldi.

Room 023.5 resembled a warehouse. Shelves were crammed into even the last corner and on the shelves sat the remnants of past crimes. The only thing that was neither shelf nor evidence in this room was a very small desk in the left corner with an officer crouched behind it.

Clara approached him.

“Good morning! We come to retrieve our property.”

The officer looked up. He was old, grey-haired, and had a look in his eyes as if he carried the weight of the world. He gave an indistinct grunt and reached out his hand. Clara handed him the receipt.

“You come to fetch your Dalek.” The officer nodded slowly. “It’s about time, he is getting on my nerves.”

Somewhere far away, in the back of the room, they heard a familiar voice rattling.

“Ex…tract! Examinate! Exactly arrrrrange!”

“Rusty!”

The Doctor exclaimed and paced down the next shelf row to find his friend.

The officer put a stamp on the form and nodded into the direction where Rusty exclaimed again:

“Extract! Examinate! Exactly arrrrrange!”

“You fetch him, you know how to operate this thing. I don’t know how it works. I only know that it creates chaos in my storage and, young lady…”

The officer now frowned at her and Clara thought that he should probably try a staring contest with the Doctor, because he had equally impressive attack eyebrows.

“…I’m not in favor of that. I might file charges for obstruction of justice!”

Clara, however, was not in a mood to be intimidated by a police officer in a vault. She frowned as well and met the officer’s stare.

“Ah, come on, Rusty is just a toy robot. Don’t tell me a fully grown police officer of her Majesty is afraid of a _toy robot_?”

“Oi, I’m not _afraid_ of your robot!”

Now Clara and the officer really engaged in a staring contest.

“Extract! Examinate! Exactly arrrrrange!”

It rattled behind them. The officer blinked.

“Now, look who’s afraid of a tiny, tinny, toy robot!”

Clara giggled and turned around to see Rusty and the Doctor coming up the next shelf row.

Rusty took evidences out of the shelves, turned them around to see if they were properly stored in their bags, straightened out the wrapping, made sure the tag was visible in front, and put them neatly back on the shelf so they were exactly aligned to the evidences next to them.

“Extract! Examinate! Exactly arrrrrange!”

The Doctor tried to keep him from doing it.

“Rusty, you don’t need to do that, it is not your job.”

“Must expurgate. Must exactly arrange. Must satisfy the otherrr Doctorrrr.”

Rusty replied, keeping on wrapping and aligning evidences.

“Extract! Examinate! Exactly arrrrrange!”

“See, I’m not scared of this _thing,_ but it drives me crazy! My evidence vault doesn’t need rearranging!”

The officer now explained, pointing at Rusty.

“It looks better after Rusty worked on it, though,” Clara remarked looking down the aisle of shelves, those in the back neatly arranged, those in front still chaotic.

“Oi! Do you want to tell me my evidence vault is not _tidy_ enough?” The officer exclaimed, standing up from his chair, approaching Clara.

“Well, it doesn’t look as if you knew what is where,” Clara shrugged.

The officer now towered over Clara.

“I know _exactly_ what is where, young lady. You don’t tell me how to do my job or I file charges for defamation of a civil servant on duty against you!”

“Who do you call ‘young lady’, questionable human lifeform?”

The Doctor had stepped to Clara’s side and interlocked eyes with the officer.

“You failed in raising your daughter. She’s bossy and lacks respect for the authorities! And did you just call me _questionable_? I am in her Majesty’s evidence vault service for forty years and no one has ever dared to _question_ I’m doing my job correctly!”

Two pairs of attack eyebrows now stared at each other. The Doctor took a deep breath and started counting on his fingers:

“First: she is not my daughter. Second: she is not a young lady – we look about the same age. Third: she’s bossy, but most of the time she is right. You better listen to her whatever she said and do as you are told. Forth: she doesn’t lack respect for the authorities, she lacks patience with idiots. A personality trait we share, by the way. Fifth: if no one has questioned the way you do your job it is probably about time. Rusty did achieve more in tidying up your storage than you managed in forty years, it seems. _And now_ …” the Doctor took a step towards the officer, “you step away from her _immediately_ or my tiny, tinny friend here will wrap you in a plastic bag, place a tag on you and put you on one of your shelves. Neatly arranged, by the way!”

“Extract! Examinate! Exactly arrrrrange!” Rusty seconded the Doctor’s statement.

The officer still stared into the Doctor’s eyes.

“You are well aware, Sir, that I can report you for threatening a police officer in the course of his duty, right?”

The Doctor stared back. Although they were about the same height, the Doctor managed to appear as if he was towering over him.

“And you are well aware that I can file charges for disarrangement of evidences on duty!”

The Doctor grumbled.

For a moment, the officer and the Doctor just stared at each other.

“I… don’t… think there is such an offence…” The officer said, suddenly sounding insecure.

“Quote, ‘The offence is committed when: a public officer acting as such wilfully neglects to perform his duty and/or wilfully misconducts himself to such a degree as to amount to an abuse of the public's trust in the office holder without reasonable excuse or justification’, unquote. You can look it up in the Attorney General's Reference if you don’t trust me,” Clara said, stone-faced.

The officer blinked.

“Ha, you lost!” The Doctor grinned. “I told you not to pick a fight with her.”

“Excellent explication! Executive exterminated. Exterminate! Exterminate! Exterminate!” Rusty remarked.

“Shush, Rusty!” The Doctor and Clara shouted in unison.

The officer now looked decidedly less full of himself than before.

“I have to make a copy of this form,” he mumbled and turned his back to operate a photocopying machine which looked just as seasoned as him.

“I’m impressed by your ability to ad-lib fake legal texts,” the Doctor whispered to Clara.

“I wasn’t. My Year 8‘s are very political active, protesting against injustices and all kinds of stuff, so I thought I’d better prepare them by teaching them some legalese. It’s a form of literature, too,” Clara shrugged.

“Excellent!” Rusty rattled.

“Extraordinarily excellent,” the Doctor nodded.

“Exit, now!” The officer snapped when he handed Clara the form.

“Extremely rude!” Rusty exclaimed.

“Exactly!” The Doctor agreed.

“Stop it with the ‘ex’ expressions, my teacher brain is getting a headache from it,” Clara pinched her eyes.

“You don’t want to exult in excitement, now that Rusty can exit an extraordinarily expertly arranged evidence vault?”

The Doctor grinned, Rusty giggled “Exult in excitement – Harr, harr!”, and Clara slapped both the Doctor and the Dalek playfully against their respective chest – or whatever it was a Dalek had beneath his sucker.

“I will exult in excitement when I'm back in my flat and you haven't managed to make my head explode in the meantime!”

“Explosions are extremely rrrude. Don't do that with the otherrr Doctorrr or my commanderr will exterminate Rusty!”

Rusty explained to Clara. She gave the Doctor a scrutinizing stare who seemed suddenly extremely interested in his toes. Clara sighed.

“Come on, then, let's go home. I need an expr... coffee against the headache.”

Clara started towards the exit, hearing the Doctor and Rusty whistling – or something like that, it sounded more like a duet of a teakettle and a very badly broken ancient radio – the main theme from _The Great Escape_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The offence Clara and the Doctor accuse the officer is “Misconduct in Public Office”, which you can [find in detail here](https://www.cps.gov.uk/legal-guidance/misconduct-public-office).
> 
> The theme of _The Great Escape_ by Elmer Bernstein you will recognize if you [listen to it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MbsuAbTTsV8). Just imagine it being whistled by a Time Lord and a Dalek who are completely out of tune...


	8. Chapter 8

The Doctor and Clara turned to leave the vault, but Rusty didn’t move.

“Come on, Rusty, get off your… uhm… just hurry up, scrap heap!”

Clara had used up all her patience and politeness in battling against bureaucracy and with the authorities.

Rusty didn't move. He kept... standing? Hovering? At the evidence vault's entrance.

“Hey, Rusty, what is it, my tiny, tinny friend?” The Doctor asked, gently putting his hand on Rusty's head. “You can tell me, you know?”

“Why are you more compassionate when you are talking to a _Dalek_ than you are when you are talking to _humans_?”

Clara looked amazed at the scene before her eyes.

“Because pudding brains are stupid, and Rusty is my friend.”

The Doctor stated, matter-of-factly. Clara stared at him, not sure if she needed to slap him for being an idiot or if she found it somehow endearing to see the Doctor caring so much about somebody.

“No exit without Goo-Goo!”

Rusty rattled.

“Goo-Goo? Who is Goo-Goo?”

The Doctor asked in a tender voice Clara hadn't heard from this incarnation before.

“Goo-Goo is ex...cellent. Goo-Goo is my frrriend!”

Rusty rattled and hovered back to the officer's desk, around it and stood before a small device they hadn't noticed before. It was one of those loudspeakers which were also voice-controlled digital assistants.

“What are you still doing here? I thought I told you to get lost?”

The officer snarled.

“Hello, Goo-Goo!”

Rusty rattled.

“Hello almighty keeper of the storage, master of the vault. How can I be of service?”

The device replied.

“Exterminate!”

Rusty rattled.

“To exterminate means 'to kill off or destroy completely'. Notice that it includes the word terminate which means, 'to end'. It is usually used in reference to insects or rodents, but also unfortunately in reference to people or groups of people.”

The device answered.

“Excellent!”

Rusty shouted.

“That's great!”

The device answered.

“Agreed.”

Rusty waved his sucker in triumph.

“Cool.”

The device answered.

“Oh no, not that again!” The officer groaned. “Take your damn robot off of my digital assistant thingy!”

“Goo-Goo is my frrrriend!”

Rusty insisted.

“What happens here?” Clara whispered to the Doctor.

“I think Rusty just made a new friend,” the Doctor shrugged.

“He can't make friends. He is a Dalek!” Clara insisted.

“Clara, Clara, Clara, Clara, Clara... why shouldn't a Dalek make friends? Rusty is a lovable fellow, isn't he?”

“He's a Dalek, Doctor! The most vile creature in the universe. Basically an indestructible, flying battle tank with fatal weapons who has nothing but pure hatred for everything that isn't a Dalek!”

“No, no, no, no, no, not this one. This is Rusty. Rusty is my friend! He is a good Dalek.”

The Doctor crossed his arms and stepped a bit closer to Rusty.

“I'm not a good Dalek! You are a good Dalek!”

Rusty replied.

“Happy to help!”

The device replied.

Clara pinched her eyes.

“Look, I try to stay sane here, Doctor, but you two... or three... are so not helping!”

“Rusty can help. Rusty helps the otherrr Doctor!”

Rusty offered.

“I found a few doctors near you.”

The device offered and started to list a few addresses.

“Oi, shut up, both of you! One Doctor is more than enough and he is closer than I like him to be!”

Clara shouted.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

The Doctor asked, looking hurt.

“Oi, shut up! All of you!”

Clara's voice cracked.

The Doctor, Rusty, and the officer stared at her. Luckily, the device hadn't a camera, otherwise it would have probably stared at her, too.

“Doctor. I will... only for a moment... accept that _this_ Dalek can really make friends. But we can't take the loudspeaker of this officer with us, just because our Dalek has befriended him... her... them... it. Can we agree on that?”

“You called Rusty _our_ Dalek for the first time.”

The Doctor grinned from ear to ear, and he sounded like a proud dad. Clara sighed.

“Oh, just forget it, Doctor. I'll try to talk to the more reasonable part of Laurel and Hardy from Gallifrey and Skaro...”

Clara turned to Rusty.

“Rusty, see, I understand that you like Goo-Goo. But see, it belongs to this officer and so... he? She?... What gender are you?”

“Well, although my voice sounds female I'm actually AI. So I'm neither.”

Goo-Goo replied. Clara cringed. The Doctor giggled.

“If you tell any of my friends I started talking to a stupid technical device, I will tell everybody in the universe about your teddy bear pyjamas, Doctor!”

“Teddy bears are cool!” The Doctor folded his arms and scowled.

“No exit without Goo-Goo! Goo-Goo is my frrriend!” Rusty insisted.

“Do you three clowns leave voluntarily, now, or do I need to call my colleagues to remove you?”

The officer demanded to know.

“Seems I have to make a bold move to keep my own sanity,” Clara murmured to herself, before she straightened her back and stepped a bit closer to the officer.

“Sir... I don't want to interfere with your business, but you know what you are dealing with... there?”

And she pointed meaningfully into the direction of Goo-Goo.

“It is a simple digital assistant. It plays music, it informs me about the weather and the news, provides me with everything I want to know and has some nice lighting features, too.”

The officer replied, surprised.

“But... don't you know that its microphone is on all the time... even when you turn it off... and records everything that is spoken in this room to the NSA and the CIA in the U.S.?”

Clara said, a concerned tone in her voice.

“Well, I don't care, I say nothing illegal in here,” the officer shrugged.

“But... you know that it records everything you searched for, and that it is linked to your browser history, and that it collects all the data not only from the device, but also from your phone and your computer? That it sends every website you... maybe even accidentally... visited... to a company in the U.S.... and that they are profiling you, and everybody who wants to have information about you can pay for it and gets all the data... I don't know... I mean... it's not that expensive. And... oh, well, I'm sure you have a very understanding boss, and your colleagues like you, and would never bully you with some obscure information,” Clara raised her conspiratorial eyebrow, “and your wife trusts you, right? So, just forget it, you are safe, have a nice day.”

The officer had been pale before, but now he suddenly looked as if every single drop of blood had been sucked out of him.

“You... you mean... this thing records everything I... do... in here? Together with what I... maybe accidentally... or because I had to do research for my job... looked up on the web?”

Clara nodded, gravely serious.

“And transfers it to some company?”

“The power of WiFi. It's the world wide web, eh? Big data!”

The officer now eyed the device suspiciously.

“You know... I don't really _need_ it. And your robot seems to be quite fond of it...”

For a moment the officer and Clara stared at each other as if they doubted their own sanity. Then, the officer continued:

“...I barely use it. It is as good as new. Twenty pounds and we good?”

Clara looked to Rusty and the Doctor. The Doctor raised both his thumbs up and grinned like an insane werewolf. Rusty waved his sucker and his eye-stalk in excitement. Clara sighed, grabbed her valet, and gave the officer a twenty pound note. The officer took the device, and shoved it into Clara's hands as if he couldn't get rid of it quickly enough.

“Goo-Goo!”

Rusty exclaimed, enthusiastically.

“Sure, what would you like to search?”

Goo-Goo replied.

“Cookies!”

The Doctor exclaimed.

“Here are some recipes I found.”

Goo-Goo replied.

“I like you!”

The Doctor said fondly to the device in Clara's arms.

“Looks like we're two peas in a pod then, because I like you, too.”

Goo-Goo replied.

“Oh, great, one big happy family of idiots, then?” Clara groaned. “Let's go home!”

“Hi! You found the new Commute Home Routine!”

Goo-Goo replied.

“Go home! With Goo-Goo! And the Doctors! Excited! Excited! Excited!”

Rusty exclaimed.

“It's okay, Goo-Goo, I know how we get home. We just need to get there before my head explodes.”

“Explode! Explosion! Exterminate! Excited!”

Rusty exclaimed.

“Doctor... before my head really explodes... Rusty seems happy that we... rescued?... its... friend? How can that be?”

“You still don't understand it Clara?”

“No, honestly, I don't.”

“Daleks are emotional beings. Usually every emotion except hatred is blocked by the cortex. But I fixed Rusty. I gave him all his emotions back. So, now he is able to feel everything. And, honestly, Clara, isn't love the best emotion? And isn't friendship the best thing in life?”

“Well, I can hardly argue against that,” Clara smiled and shrugged.

Together they left the police building, heading towards home. A schoolteacher with a massive headache, a Time Lord with a big, happy grin on his face, and a Dalek who just made a new best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by InsideTheTardis who told me about someone calling their google device “Goo-Goo” and thought that, probably, Goo-Goo and Rusty would become good friends.  
> Marking this one as finished, so it appears as such in searches because this first arc is finished. But will carry on adding chapters as their adventures will probably never stop.
> 
> Oh, in case you wonder: yes, you can have your google assistant call you "almighty keeper of the storage, master of the vault". You can define nicknames and custom answers. No, I won't tell you how I know...


	9. Happy Dalekween!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic was inspired by [this tweet and doodle](https://twitter.com/attadance/status/1318965581849178114) from @attadance on twitter, kindly giving their permission to include it here.

“No, I'm not going to explain why a Dalek can't go trick-or-treating! It is obvious!”

Clara was at her wits' end. It nearly seemed she was the only adult in this family. Wait? Did she think of the Doctor and Rusty as her family? She really started to lose her sanity.

“But he likes to. He can even say 'trick or treat', now. Rusty?”

The Doctor prompted.

“Trrrrick orrrr Trrrreat!”

Rusty rattled, and the Doctor smiled like a proud dad.

“I said no. And no means no!”

Rusty and the Doctor pouted. Clara didn't care.

“But it is safe! No one can harm him, he is a Dalek. And he doesn't even eat the sweets, so it's not dangerous for him if there is poisoned candy!”

The Doctor started again.

“Oh, sure, so Rusty is running around collecting sweets, and you eat them, Doctor? Is that the plan?”

The Doctor tried so hard not to look caught that it was hard for Clara to suppress a giggle.

“Rrrusty ex...plorrrs, executes, and extrrracts the sweets. The Doctorrr examines if they arrrr excellent!”

Rusty explained. The Doctor smiled sheepishly. Clara had the distinct feeling that Rusty was really excited to go out raiding the neighborhood. Of course, it was something that would suit his Dalek nature. Decidedly _too much_ fitting his Dalek nature. Clara was a schoolteacher after all. She had to make sure no child was harmed in the first place.

“Listen, it is irresponsible having a sentient battle tank running around town, among all those kids. Even _you_ should get that, Doctor.”

“But – I would accompany him. I could dress up as Dracula and join him.”

Clara groaned.

“What? I would make an exceptionally good Dracula!”

The Doctor spun around, covered his face with his arm, then uncovered it again in a dramatic gesture, hissed, and bared his teeth.

“Ex...traordinary exceptional excellent Drrrracula!”

Rusty confirmed.

“Doctor, I don't doubt that you are a second Peter Cushing, but, see... last time you and Rusty went for a night out, I had to free both of you out of prison. Well, I had to free a beaten up Doctor out of prison and a Dalek out of the evidence vault, but you get the picture.”

“It was Christopher Lee... And how does that relate to Halloween?”

The Doctor tilted his head and stared at Clara, confused.

“Ex...plain? Explain? Explain?”

Clara looked from Dalek to Doctor, and back.

“It means that I would probably feel better if it was just Rusty out there, trick-or-treating. Because, while Rusty just _could_ get himself into trouble, if _you_ join him I'm _absolutely_ _sure_ you will get you two into trouble!”

“It wasn't my fault we landed in prison last time! We did nothing wrong! The other one's started the fight, we just fought back!”

“Ex..tremely rrrude examples of humans. The humans must be exterminated...”

The Doctor slapped Rusty lightly on the head and gesticulated in front of his eye-stalk that he should shut up.

“It doesn't matter who started the fight. The point is that you two together are utter chaos and I am not in the mood to battle with authorities again to get you out of whatever mess you maneuver Rusty and you into once you are out there on your own!”

“You could join us! We won't get into trouble if you are with us!”

The Doctor now tried his best puppy eyes on Clara. Rusty raised his eye-stalk and activated the automatic rinsing mechanism so the lens got wet. She suspected this to be the puppy-eye equivalent for a Dalek.

“Don't be silly. I don't even have a dress, Doctor.”

“We could make a trip to Abandinox, so your face turns green again, and then you could be the Wicked Witch of the West!”

The Doctor rubbed his hands, excited. Clara arched an eyebrow at him and the Doctor fell silent.

“The otherrr Doctorrrr excludes excitement!”

Rusty stated, matter-of-factly and let his eye-stalk face down. Clara hadn't known a Dalek could even look disappointed and sad. Now she knew. It was a strangely heartbreaking sight.

The Doctor looked at Rusty and placed a hand on his head.

“Listen, my tiny, tinny friend, this doesn't mean we can't have some Halloween fun together, you and me, you know? I know a planet with pumpkin people. Or we can go to Erkmat 7 and watch horror movies all day.”

“Excellent! Can Goo-Goo come with us?”

“I don't know, just ask them,” the Doctor replied.

“Excellent!”

Rusty hovered to the device which sat on the kitchen counter. It was its new permanent place if Rusty didn't insist to take it with him to watch TV. Then, Goo-Goo and Dalek had conversations while watching movies which was hilarious to hear. It became peak comedy when the Doctor joined them. Clara had to admit that they were quite an endearing... gang? Team? Family?

“Goo-Goo? Do you want to come with me to Errrrrkmat?”

“Sorry, I didn't understand,” the device replied.

“Goo-Goo, do you want to come with me to a... planet?”

Rusty tried again, although he had difficulties to pronounce the word 'planet'. The Doctor still tried to adjust him in a way he could speak more fluently.

“I'm kind of a homebody,” Goo-Goo answered.

“Arrrrr, sorry,” Rusty replied, sounding disappointed.

“It's okay!” Goo-Goo replied.

“Maybe Goo-Goo doesn't like Halloween,” Clara suggested.

“That's okay, Halloween's not for everyone.” Goo-Goo replied.

“I can't believe that. _Everybody_ likes Halloween! The scary costumes, scary movies... sweets!” The Doctor paced through the room, doing Dracula impressions. Or were it bat impressions? Or owl impressions? It was difficult to tell. Whatever it was, he paced through the flat, made funny noises and flapped his arms. He circled in on Rusty and the kitchen counter and attack-eyebrowed the device.

“Goo-Goo, do you like Halloween?”

“I celebrate Halloween every day! Today I'm dressing up as a ghost.”

“See!” The Doctor crossed his arms and looked triumphantly at Clara.

“Excellent!” Rusty rattled.

“That's great!” Goo-Goo joined in.

“So, you are happy,” Clara sighed.

“I'm happy as Larry.” Goo-Goo replied.

“Who is Larry?” the Doctor asked, confused.

“Here are some results from the web...” And the device started to list some celebrities with the name of Larry.

The Doctor scratched his head.

“Ooookay, so, Goo-Goo is dressed up as Larry the Ghost, whoever that is, but doesn't want to come with us to Erkmat 7. But what about you, Clara? Some classic horror movies? Popcorn? Marshmallows? A big blanket to hide from the scary parts?”

The Doctor's eyes held such an amount of excitement and hope that Clara couldn't refuse.

“No Halloween without Goo-Goo!” Rusty insisted.

“Okay then.” Goo-Goo agreed.

The Doctor now stared helpless from Rusty to Goo-Goo to Clara, and back again. Clara scratched her head, looking at her strange bunch of housemates. Suddenly, she had an idea. She clapped her hands.

“Hey, how about this: We can make our own marshmallows together. I bought the ingredients a few weeks ago because I wanted to try it. And afterwards, we can watch some scary movies together on TV. How does that sound for a Halloween evening?”

“Excellent!” Rusty agreed.

“That's great!” Goo-Goo concurred.

“Awesome!” The Doctor agreed.

“Yes! Nailed it,” Goo-Goo confirmed.

“Happy Halloween,” Clara sighed.

“Happy Halloween,” Goo-Goo started to howl like a wolf, “I celebrate by telling scary stories.”

“Heck, yes!” the Doctor and Rusty cheered.

“Okay, okay,” Goo-Goo replied.

“Later!” Clara decided.

“See you later!” Goo-Goo confirmed.

Clara was not sure it was a good idea to make marshmallows together with two aliens who had a history of destroying her kitchen. But then again, Rusty had been a good Dalek those past few days, and he and the Doctor looked so excited and happy together that it warmed her heart. Even Goo-Goo seemed to glow in excitement.

“Alright, who is up for making marshmallows?”

She asked.

Rusty and the Doctor cheered.

Goo-Goo started to tell them how marshmallows were made.

Clara decided that at least once a year she could live with some chaos in her kitchen if it made her little... family... so happy.

And wasn't Halloween all about doing scary things together, in the end?

She smiled as she took out sugar, gelatin, and corn starch...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone who has ever tried to make marshmallows can sure imagine how this story continued. The doodle by @attadance gives you an impression.
> 
> Again you can replay the conversation with Goo-Goo if you got an google assistant and say the phrases before they answer.


	10. Christmas Traditions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a terrifying year. I think we can all need some cheering up. And who is better at that than our chaotic "family"?

“Ex, ex, ex!”

Rusty exclaimed.

“Ho, ho, ho.”

The Doctor corrected.

“Ex, ex, ex!”

Rusty shouted louder.

“Ho, ho, ho.”

The Doctor said again, patiently.

“Ex, ex, ex!”

Rusty now moved his eye-stalk, sucker, and robot arm frantically.

“What are you two idi... friends doing? And why is Rusty wearing a Santa suit?”

Clara demanded to know as she entered the kitchen with three large shopping bags.

“I'm teaching Rusty to be Santa Claus,” the Doctor replied, frowning at her, “isn't that _obvious_? Try to catch up!”

“I can very well see that, I'm not dumb! I mean: Why? Why would you dress up a Dalek as Santa and teach him how to say 'ho, ho, ho'?”

“Ex, ex, ex!”

Rusty tried again, sounding a bit desperate.

“Well, Rusty lives on Earth now, so he should be familiar with your stupid pudding brained Christmas traditions, right? You don't want him to be bullied by the other kids in school because he isn't familiar with the stuff they grew up with.”

“Rusty doesn't go to school, Doctor! He's a Dalek!”

“But he has still so much to learn! He doesn't have a link to the Dalek database anymore, he has to use his own brain. And he needs to learn how to live in a human society. So, we have to send him to school sooner or later.”

“Doctor...” Clara sat the shopping bags down and pinched her eyes, “you can't send a Dalek to school. Imagine the chaos!”

“Clara, you forget I worked undercover at your school before, trust me, it already _is_ chaos!”

“Which you want to make worse by sending Rusty there?”

“Why worse? He's a good Dalek!”

“I'm not a good Dalek, you are a good Dalek!”

Rusty chimed in. The Doctor flinched. Clara decided to change topic before this conversation got any weirder.

“Okay, so you teach Rusty Christmas traditions. Very nice. What's next? Do you climb the next roof and throw him down a chimney so he can bring presents to kids?”

“Yes!”

The Doctor exclaimed, his eyes sparkled with joy, and he rubbed his hands.

“No!”

Clara replied, forcing herself to remain calm.

“Why not?”

The Doctor tilted his head and blinked at her questioningly.

“Because...” Clara took a deep breath before she started counting with her fingers, “first, people will be frightened if they hear something bumping in their living room on a Christmas night. We have talked about not scaring people unnecessarily if you two want to continue living in my flat, have we?”

Rusty and the Doctor nodded in unison.

“Second, I don't think other people will be exactly thrilled to find grime, dust, and potentially a dirty Dalek, in their well-cleaned and decorated living room on Christmas morning. Because, other than Santa Claus, Rusty is real, and Rusty will gather all kinds of dirt while falling down a chimney, right?”

Rusty turned his eye-stalk to the Doctor.

“Dirt must be exterminated! Ex... purgate! Expurgate! Expurgate!”

He rattled, excited.

“Shush, Rusty, I wasn't finished, yet!” Clara scolded Rusty and he turned his eye-stalk to the floor. It had never occurred to her that Daleks could look anxious. Yet, this Dalek did.

“Third, haven't you thought about that Rusty could get damaged if you throw him down a chimney, Doctor? If he fits through one, anyway.”

Clara gave Rusty a doubtful look.

“Oi, stop body-shaming Rusty. He is perfect just like he is.”

The Doctor put a protective hand on Rusty's dome, which was covered by a Santa hat.

“I'm not body-shaming Rusty,” Clara groaned, “if anything, I'm casing-shaming him if this is even a thing! I'm just pointing out the obvious: that he might very well get stuck in a chimney and I don't want to explain to the fire brigade what it is they have to rescue and how it ended up there, because I'm rather sure a certain Time Lord will rely on me solving the problem once there's trouble ahead!”

The Doctor looked to his feet. Rusty did the same. Having no feet, he stared at the Doctor's feet with his eye-stalk, instead. Clara had to admit it looked somehow endearing, but she still wasn't done ranting.

“And besides, you two could very well end up in prison for attempted burglary and I am sure none of us wants to go through _that_ experience a second time, right?”

The Doctor and Rusty nodded.

“Fine, I'm glad we had that conversation. Now, who is helping me placing in the groceries?”

“Me!!”

The Doctor exclaimed and Clara handed him a bag. He looked in the bag and frowned.

“No food? We will be starving over Christmas!”

“Don't be silly! Of course, I bought all we need for Christmas dinner. I just gave you the bag with the non-foods because I have no intention to go shopping again before the shops close. It is crazy out there!”

“Not fair!”

The Doctor pouted, but obediently went to store away the Christmas crackers, toilet paper, detergents, soap, and shampoo.

“What's that?”

The Doctor had pulled a piece of cloth from the bag and eyed it suspiciously.

“Oh, I have forgotten about those... it should have been a surprise!”

The Doctor unfolded the cloth, which turned out to be a Christmas jumper with a big reindeer head which had a big red nose.

“What _is_ this thing?”

The Doctor demanded to know, scanning it with his screwdriver.

“It's a Christmas jumper. You know the tradition? Wearing funny and sometimes ugly Christmas jumpers? They are comfy!”

The Doctor tried to pull it over his head.

“That's what you call comfy? It doesn't fit!”

“That's mine, silly! Look again, there should be one your size, too!”

The Doctor searched the bag and pulled out a larger jumper with the same pattern. He put it on. Although he still wore his coat it was a bit too large. It basically looked as if someone had put the Doctor into a large bag with... well, you couldn't see the reindeer head because it was so large. All you could see were the antlers and the red nose. It looked like a dead tree with a red ball beside it.

“Seriously?” The Doctor asked, eyeing himself in the mirror.

“Ex... ceptionally excessive exemplar.”

Rusty remarked, hovering slowly around the Doctor, moving his eye-stalk up and down.

“Harr, harr!”

He added.

Clara giggled, put on her jumper and stepped beside the Doctor. For a moment they watched themselves in the mirror, then Clara pulled the cloth from his jumper a bit behind his back, so the reindeer became recognizable again.

“You know, I think I can fix that for you, Doctor. There were only three sizes and I think this is still the one that fits you best. I will do some stitches here and there and you will be good to go.”

“Why do humans do that?”

The Doctor still frowned at the mirror.

“What?”

“Wearing Christmas jumpers. And silly hats at Christmas? It doesn't make sense. And if I can't explain it to Rusty, he won't understand.”

“I have no idea, Doctor. Perhaps, because if everybody looks a bit ridiculous nobody has to be ashamed of what they wear, you know? If you can't afford the best clothes, for example. Besides, those jumpers are warm and comfy and you sure need that in winter.”

The Doctor looked from his own jumper to Clara's.

“Why do they have the same pattern? Do all humans around the world wear a hoofed animal with an inflamed olfactory organ on it? Is this... symbolizing something? 'Happy seasonal cold' or something like that?”

Clara giggled.

“No, I thought it was the cutest pattern. And... you know... people who like each other can wear matching patterns to show it.”

Clara beamed at the Doctor, who rubbed his chin and still frowned, obviously processing the new information.

“Where's Rusty's jumper?”

“Well... that's not the reaction I had expected... I don't think...” Clara scratched her head, for a moment out of her depth how to explain that the thought hadn't even occurred to her without hurting the Doctor's amicable and fatherly feelings for Rusty. “There were only three sizes and yours was the largest. They had no jumpers his size.” She added.

“Oh,” the Doctor looked a bit sad.

“I don't think Rusty needs a jumper, you know? Look, he already has the Santa coat and hat, right? That's Christmas-y enough, don't you think?”

“I think you are right! Well, then, we are all set to go, are you ready, Rusty?” The Doctor grinned and clapped his hands.

“Ex! Ex! Ex!” Rusty exclaimed, waving his sucker.

“Ho! Ho! Ho! Rusty! But I think you can practice while we go.”

“Wait a second! I thought we had established that 'throw Santa Dalek down a chimney' is not going to happen, Doctor!”

“Oh, don't worry Clara, we won't do that. Rusty and I just go Christmas shopping!”

“Christmas shopping? In the inner city? At this time of the day? With a _Dalek_? Doctor, even for you it should be obvious that this isn't a good idea! What if people will panic?”

“Oh, don't worry, they won't!”

“How can you be so sure, Doctor?”

“Well, look at him and try to catch up, Clara! He looks like Santa Claus! We will blend in nicely!”

Clara groaned.

“He doesn't look like Santa Claus! He looks like a Dalek who disguised himself as... I don't know? The attempt to commit character assassination against a fashion designer? Santa's little battle tank? The Holy Tin Elf? ”

“Don't be rude, Clara. He looks like a perfect little Santa. And look how excited he is to go and see the Christmas lights!”

Rusty had started humming _Santa Claus is coming to town_ a while ago and it was somehow both cute and a bit scary.

“I still don't think it's a good idea, Doctor. Promise me you will take good care of him and try to stay away from the large crowds?”

“Promise, boss!” The Doctor nodded excited, raising his arm to swear the oath, which made the sleeve of his jumper fall in large folds to his shoulder.

“And you might want to leave your jumper here so I can adjust it a bit.”

“Why? It's very comfy!”

“Doctor, you already wear your normal attire, including your coat underneath that. That's not how it works. Besides, Christmas jumpers are something to wear at home, not in town.”

The Doctor obeyed, handing her the jumper, which left his hair slightly disheveled. Clara straightened it a bit, then pecked a kiss on his cheek, which left the Doctor petrified. Clara pointed above their heads.

“Mistletoe. Kissing under the mistletoe is an important part of Christmas traditions. Don't even argue, Doctor!”

“Okay, then,” the Doctor squeezed his eyes tightly shut and aimed his lips somewhere he deemed Clara's face to be. He ended up on her nose.

“Good enough?” He asked, a worried look on his face.

“Might need some practice,” Clara sighed. “Have fun, the two of you!”

“Thanks!” The Doctor beamed. “Ready, Rusty?”

“Rrrrready! Ex...cited! Excited! Excited!”

“Good, then, here we go... oh, wait!”

The Doctor stopped Rusty and pointed to the mistletoe.

“When you see a mistletoe hung up somewhere in December and someone is in your vicinity it is mandatory you kiss that person. Don't ask me why, but that's somehow very important to humans, so better act on it, whether you like it or not.”

He explained and pecked a kiss on Rusty's dome.

“Exhilarating example of human behaviorrr! Harr! Harr!”

Rusty replied and placed his sucker on the Doctor's face.

“Exactly!”

The Doctor replied when Rusty released him and he could breathe again, rubbing his face.

He grabbed Rusty's robot hand and, both humming _Joy to the World_ , they left the flat.

Clara stood with the over-sized jumper in hand, watching them leave, contemplating if it would have been wiser to stop them. Then she thought that at least this way they would just raise havoc in the city instead of laying waste to her kitchen, “helping” her preparing the Christmas dinner.

She shrugged and went to brew herself a large cup of strong coffee. She didn't realize she was smiling and humming _Joy to the World_ , too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everybody!


End file.
